


A Last Adventure

by Tanaqui



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-11-03 21:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanaqui/pseuds/Tanaqui
Summary: Just what kinds of trouble might the adventurous Belladonna Took have got herself into, to make Gandalf remember her so fondly?





	A Last Adventure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Narya (Narya_Flame)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/gifts).

> Thanks to my usual beta.

The heavy door gave a long screech as Belladonna cautiously pushed it open. Behind her, Hildifons whispered crossly, “Can’t you keep the noise down?”

“You try,” Belladonna muttered, gritting her teeth as the door continued to complain. Whatever was on the other side — if there was anything on the other side — could hardly have failed to notice.

At last the gap was wide enough for her to slip through. She paused just inside, her eyes adjusting to the deeper darkness inside the inn. A little moonlight fell in through a broken window, its rotting shutter creaking quietly in the wind gusting outside. The room was bare, save for a drift of leaves in one corner, too shallow to contain anything larger than a mouse, or perhaps a rat. On the far side of the room, another door opened, a yawning black rectangle.

Belladonna took another couple of steps forward, treading noiselessly on the sagging floorboards, and waited for Hildifons and Isembard to join her. When there was no movement behind her, she half turned her head and growled quietly, “Well, come on, then! Or did you want to lose the bet already?”

Hildifons mumbled something too low for her to catch the words, though his annoyance was clear enough, before he finally followed her inside. Isembard shuffled in behind him, almost tripping over his heels.

After a moment, Hildifons gave a loud sniff and said, in a more ordinary voice, “Well, this is a whole lot of nothing!” Even as he finished speaking, there came a bang from the darkness beyond the second door, quickly followed by a loud creak as if someone had trodden heavily on a loose board almost overhead.

Belladonna caught her breath, her hands automatically reaching into her pocket for one of the smooth stones with which she’d armed herself earlier. Behind her, one of her brothers let out a high-pitched squeak and the other a gasp, and then a scuffle and the pained “Ow! Gerroff!” of someone’s foot being stepped on.

Not taking her eyes off the darkness of the far door, Belladonna shifted the stone until it fitted comfortably into her hand and stole a few more noiseless steps forward. A second bang came from ahead of her, accompanied by a drawn-out whistling moan. From somewhere upstairs came a sharp tattoo, like falling pebbles — or the scrabble of claws.

There was another scrimmage behind her and then the outer door screeched again as someone hauled on it in their haste to get out.

Belladonna didn’t look round. “Hildifons?”

“He’s gone.” Isembard sounded like he’d been running. 

Belladonna rolled her eyes. Her own heart was pounding and her breath was short, but it was all just noises so far, nothing more. More rattling — scrabbling — from upstairs, and then Isembard said, “Me too!” and she sensed nothing behind her but empty air and the half-open door.

She wasn’t leaving, though. Not when she was determined to win her bet with Hildifons. 

Making sure she still had a good grip on the stone, she edged forwards and paused on the threshold of the second door. It wasn’t completely pitch black on the far side. While she waited for her eyes to adjust, she wondered how she — Belladonna Took, soon to be Belladonna Baggins — had ended up here.

It had all started with one of the Big Folk at the Prancing Pony in Bree. No, before that. When she and Hildifons and Isembard had been sitting under a plum tree near one of the western entrances of Great Smials, enjoying the unseasonably warm late afternoon sun. Her brothers were gorging themselves on the basket of plums she’d climbed up and picked. Sticky with plum juice, Hildifons had waved his hands and said, “We should have a last hurrah. Before you get married to your dull Bungo and settle down as a respectable Baggins goodwife.”

“He’s not dull!” Belladonna retorted, picking up the basket of plums and moving it out of reach even as Hildifons stretched out his hand for another. “He’s sweet and he’s kind and he cares about things like… like… flowers and… and… making people happy and comfortable.”

Truth be told, Bungo was a little dull, but Belladonna didn’t mind. Hildifons might be her favourite brother, but he could be very tiresome. Being with Bungo was restful and it was nice to be spoiled and taken care of now and again, instead of having to fend for herself among the rough and tumble of a hundred relatives.

“Boring, then.” Hildifons sat up. “Come on, Bell. One last trip. Just the three of us. We could ride out to the inn at Bree. We haven’t done that in a long time.”

Belladonna held out for a moment longer and then gave in. It did sound like fun, and it would let her escape from her mother’s constant fretting about how they were going to feed everyone at the wedding feast. And the pre-wedding welcoming elevenses as everyone arrived. And the breakfast and second breakfast for all the relatives from the far corners of the Shire who would be staying overnight. And how to stop various young Tooks from getting into the stores in the days beforehand.

So, on a bright but chilly morning in early Winterfilth, Belladonna, Hildifons and Isembard had ridden out from Great Smials. The next days had passed uneventfully (and, happily, without rain) as they made their way through the edge of the rolling Green Hill Country, the shade of the Woody End and the well-tilled fields of the East Farthing. Even when the road left the close-packed cottages and market gardens of Buckland and struck out through the empty heathlands to the north of the Old Forest, there had been nothing but the pale clear blue sky overhead and their own voices raised in song and laughter to break the peace.

And so, without so much as a hint of danger or a moment’s fright, they found themselves leading their ponies under the arch of the Prancing Pony and being welcomed by the landlord, Hopman Butterbur. Perhaps it was the dullness of the trip — _dull enough even for your Bungo_, Hildifons had teased — that led to Isembard complaining over their ale and food in the Common Room that it wasn’t much of an adventure after all.

“Ah, if it’s adventure you want, little master,” said one of the Big Folk sitting at the next table, “you should ride on a ways to the Forsaken Inn, a day’s journey to the east.”

“I’ve heard of it.” Hildifons sat up straighter, an eager expression lighting up his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be haunted?”

“No suppose about it.” The Man lowered his voice. “There’s been no landlord there for many a year, nor folk living nearer than Staddle, but there are nights you can see strange lights in the old common room and hear ghostly horses stamping in the stables. But there’s no man nor beast there now, leastways not flesh and blood. Travelling folk — Dwarves and suchlike — don’t stop, but make camp a mile or two further on. Ah, take it from old Tom here, that’s the place for an adventure if you Little Folks wants one.”

“Ghosts?” Belladonna shivered.

Everyone knew ghosts lingered only where there had been unhappy deaths or unfinished business. There was supposed to be a ghost that roamed the passages at Great Smials, looking for a lost treasure. Belladonna had never seen it, though she and her brothers and cousins had gone ghost hunting often enough on a dark winter’s evening when she’d been a tween. They’d heard some tapping once or twice, and felt cold drafts, and caught odd snatches of inaudible conversation, and Hildifons had always made much of them — but Belladonna suspected they were just the kind of strange noises you got in a rambling Hobbit hole with a hundred relatives crammed together.

“Did people die there, then?” Hildifons asked, his eyes bright with excitement.

“Oh, aye.” The Man grinned briefly at his table-companions before turning back to the Hobbits. “A young maid what drowned herself in a washtub, I heard tell. A stable-lad kicked to death by a horse. Even a murder or two. They say the last landlord had a terrible temper on him.”

Belladonna shivered again and poked uneasily at the last of her meal, suddenly no longer hungry.

“Sounds like an adventure to me,” Hildifons said brightly. He stuffed a forkful of food in his mouth and chewed noisily. Swallowing it, he gave his sister a cheerful grin. “Hey, Bell. Bet you can’t spend a whole night there. Bet you run out shrieking for your boring Bungo to come save you and take you back to that nice new Hobbit hole he’s going to build for you, where no one’s ever died and nothing not-dull will ever happen.”

Belladonna gritted her teeth. “Bet you I can. Bet you your best walking-stick.” She didn’t covet much in life, but she’d wanted Hildifons’ walking-stick ever since he’d brought it back from one of his trips beyond the Bounds. It was made of beautiful polished wood, with a carved head, and shod with iron, and it sat just right in the hand.

Hildifons protectively put his hand on the stick, propped against his chair. Then he shrugged and let go of it. “And if you can’t, I get to call dear Bungo dull and boring and anything else I like for the rest of his life.”

“Done!” Belladonna held out her hand to shake on it. And if I win, she thought grimly, and you don’t stop calling him names, I shall beat you to death with that stick and then the ghost haunting Great Smials will be you.

Now, as her eyes became used to the dark inside the Inn and the Great Room ahead of her began to take shape, she was determined there would be no backing out.

A large fireplace dominated the far end of the room. To her left, a wide staircase rose, turning a corner to reach the upper floor. Beyond the stairs, a bar, jutted out into the room, the counter higher than her head. What light there was in the room forced its way through the thick ivy that choked the smashed windows opposite the bar.

The wind had picked up some more, because the ivy was rustling and the walls were creaking, and again — half lost — there was a scratching or scrabbling upstairs. And for all Belladonna was sure it had to be some kind of critter, she also knew she wouldn’t be able to stay the night unless she found out exactly what it was. Shifting the stone she carried to her other hand for a moment so she could blot her palm, she began to climb the stairs.

They were made for longer legs than hers, and it was slow going. Each step creaked as she put her weight on it, carefully testing to make sure it wasn’t rotten. At last she stood at the point where the stairs turned and cautiously peered around the corner.

The stairs rose another five or six steps. By standing on tiptoe, she could just see over the top of them into a corridor running away from her for the length of the building. A large window above the half-landing, less shrouded in greenery than the windows downstairs, allowed in enough moonlight to show her a half dozen doors arranged along either side of the hallway. Some had been flung wide open, revealing yawning pits of darkness, while others looked liked half-closed mouths, ready to snap shut if anyone ventured through the narrow gaps.

She heard the scratching again, from behind the first door to the left. She thought she could hear something else, too, right at the edge of her hearing and so faint that she wasn’t sure if it was there or just the blood pounding in her ears. Taking another deep breath, she climbed the rest of the steps slowly, her hand raised, ready to throw the stone. Gliding forward, she slipped through the narrow gap into the dark room and paused, listening intently.

The scrabbling came again — still from above. Something brushed across her face, the briefest touch of something leathery and the wind of its passing on her cheek. And then, suddenly, the air above her was filled with a rustling, rushing maelstrom of wings and high-pitched squeaks — and the scream rising in her throat died as understanding flared.

Bats. It was only a colony of bats. 

As the last of the bats swooped past her, she tipped her head back and saw, here and there, the gleam of an eye or a glimmer of light catching on a wing as its owner stretched and settled again, and heard the scrabbling as a bat edged along the beam from which it hung. She could now smell the sharp tang of the guano that littered the floor. The room seemed otherwise bare and not worth exploring further.

Feeling emboldened by her discovery, she backed out and turned to investigate the other rooms. Most were just as empty—emptier, for there were no bats—but in the last room she found a few sticks of furniture. A chair with the rush seat rotted out. A cabinet with one door missing and the other hanging open. Approaching, she saw the top, level with her eyes, had been designed to hold a basin and ewer, both long gone. Peering inside, she found only dusty cobwebs.

She felt none of the unhappiness the Big Folk back at the Prancing Pony had promised her, only the sadness of all unlived in and neglected places falling into disrepair. She doubted there had ever been ghosts here, or any particularly evil deeds. Travellers on the Great Road had simply grown fewer in the last years — even in the Shire they’d noticed it — and there was no business for the inn to serve.

Turning away, she headed back for the stairs, satisfied that, save for the bats, the odd creaks and noises she had heard were just the work of weather and time. Yet she was surprised, back down in the Common Room, to find a stack of kindling tucked into a dry corner of the great fireplace, together with the ashes of an old fire just to one side of the chimney. Someone had sought shelter here — and expected to do so again — in recent times. But it would be no ghost, though it might explain the lights and sounds the Bree-Folk claimed to have seen and heard.

There were still many hours until dawn: many hours to wait before she could go back outside and claim her victory and Hildifons’ walking-stick. The fireplace — bigger than some Hobbit holes and, she suspected, grand even for Big Folk — felt a little more homely than sitting out in the vast, empty room. So, hoping whoever had left the kindling would not be stopping by that night, she took it for a sign to stay and used it to lay a fire.

Soon the small, bright flames were casting a warm circle of light and sending flickering shadows running up the wall beside her. Outside, the rain that had threatened all day had begun to fall, pattering on the roof and spattering an occasional flurry of drops down the chimney, and she wondered what kind of shelter her brothers had managed to find. She briefly considered going to the door and calling them inside, but no — let them suffer for their cowardice!

Reaching for her pack, she began to pull out the makings of a hearty supper. Even as her hand closed over a small wheel of cheese, she became aware of another presence. Lifting her head slowly, she saw a tall figure in grey looming at the edge of the firelight. 

It stooped slightly so it could dip its hooded head under the high arch of the fireplace. One of the Big Folk, then. At least, she hoped that was the case, that it was only a creature of flesh and blood. It held a long staff in its right hand, pale fingers visible in the dim firelight, though its face was hidden in the shadows cast by the deep hood.

Belladonna slowly pulled her hand out of her pack, still gripping the cheese. It might not be a stone, but it was _hard_ cheese. She inclined her head a little. “Good evening, sir.” She thought she did a quite creditable job of keeping her voice steady. 

The figure went on looking at her — if it had eyes to look with, in the darkness of that deep hood — but made no answer.

She breathed in deeply, trying to steady her racing heart. “You are welcome to share the fire, sir, if you wish. And I have meat and drink to spare if you have none.”

Then the figure laughed, a warm, rolling laugh, and threw back its hood. “Bless my soul! Miss Took. Miss Belladonna Took, as I live and breathe!”

Belladonna leapt to her feet. “Gandalf! What are you doing here?” She knew the old wizard well enough, though he only visited the Shire now and then. But when he did, he always came to Great Smials to talk with her father, and he always took an interest in the doings of the younger Tooks and any of their many cousins who might be visiting. Often and a time had she and Hildifons and Isembard sat and listened to his stories of far away and long ago, and Hildifons had more than once begged Gandalf to take him on a journey outside the Shire.

He laughed again. “Indeed. I might ask the same question, Miss Took. I never thought to find anyone here, save maybe one of the wandering Big Folk. Certainly not a Hobbit lass all on her own.”

“It was a dare.” Belladonna sat back down, waving Gandalf to join her. “My brothers are outside somewhere, but they were too scared to stay.”

“I see.” Gandalf was unslinging his own pack and setting down his staff. He waved away the cheese she offered. “No, no, keep your food. I have satisfaction enough with my pipeweed. Though if you were to brew some tea, I wouldn’t say no.”

In a little while, they were sipping tea and deep in the doings of the Four Farthings, not least the news of Belladonna’s forthcoming nuptials.

“My congratulations, Miss Took. Or Mrs Baggins, as will be. I hear Bungo is as fine a young gentlehobbit as you could wish to meet, although I fear the Bagginses often do not wish to meet me.”

Belladonna sighed. “I shall miss these kinds of adventures, though. I quite envy you, Gandalf, travelling through the Wild.”

“And I quite envy you, Miss Took.” He blew out a smoke ring. “At least, your featherbeds. Speaking of which, why don’t you get some sleep. I’ll tend the fire and keep watch, though I doubt there’ll be anything to trouble us here.”

Belladonna realised she was tired, after all the exertions of the day. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she settled down and watched the flames for a while, before her eyes grew heavy and she suddenly fell asleep.

The next thing she knew, it was dawn, with pale light leaking through the creeper-covered windows and Gandalf, humming to himself, was busy with the billycan brewing tea.

They made a quick but hearty breakfast and carefully doused the fire, before Belladonna trussed up her pack and stepped back outside. The rain had cleared overnight. In the freshening morning air, she saw her brothers huddled under a tree, their three ponies tethered beside them, all of them looking cold and damp.

Isembard brightened when he saw Belladonna, but Hildifons only looked even more annoyed when Isembard nudged him to look up. They scrambled to their feet and hurried towards her.

“You managed it!” Isembard cried joyfully. Then both he and Hildifons stopped dead and gawked as Gandalf emerged from the doorway behind Belladonna.

“You cheated!” Hildifons thudded his walking-stick against the ground and glared at her.

“Indeed she did not, Master Hildifons.” Gandalf strode up beside Belladonna and put a hand on her shoulder. “Your sister was quite comfortably settled in long before I ever arrived.”

Hildifons grumbled under his breath, but dropped his gaze when Gandalf gave him a piercing look.

“But what are you doing here, Gandalf?” Isembard wanted to know.

Gandalf waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, on my way to visit old friends.” He was still looking at Hildifons. “I believe you owe your sister something, Master Hildifons. Consider it a wedding present, perhaps.”

Hildifons peered up at Gandalf from under his brows, looking like he might refuse, and then evidently thought better of it. With a heavy sigh, he held out the walking-stick to Belladonna.

She took it and examined the fine carvings. “Thank you, Hildifons,” she said gravely. “I’ll take good care of it, I promise. And I’ll use it every time Bungo and I go walking and think about you and all our adventures together.”

Hildifons’s only answer was a wordless shrug, but his expression turned a little less sulky.

Gandalf gave Belladonna’s shoulder a squeeze. “And my wedding present to you will be fireworks at your wedding feast, if you’d like that.”

Before Belladonna could answer — it was many years since Gandalf had provided one of his legendary firework displays — Isembard clapped his hands and burst out, “Oh, yes please! I mean—.” He looked at his sister in confusion, his face going pink. “That is, Bell, if….”

Belladonna turned to smile up at Gandalf. “I’d like that very much. But you will come to the wedding anyway, fireworks or no?”

“I will indeed. And now, as I think we are all making for Bree, let us finish striking camp and I will come with you now and set you safely on your way home.”

Isembard turned and hurried back to the miserable bivouac he’d made with his brother, but Hildifons lingered. “And maybe, once Bell is married, you’ll take me on a journey?

Gandalf laughed, a rich rolling laugh. “Maybe I will, Master Took. Maybe I will. If only to stop you tormenting your sister.”


End file.
